


Human Events

by TheSilverPhoenix



Series: America's True Colors [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: American History, American Revolution, Events Leading Up, Historical Hetalia, Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2018-07-12 14:45:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7109773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSilverPhoenix/pseuds/TheSilverPhoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After casting a spell, England, Canada, and France travel back in American history to the American Revolution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT: Please click [here](https://silverphoenixwrites.tumblr.com/post/170994077449/rewrite-announcement) for an extremely important announcement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Title]: An allusion to the famous beginning line of the Declaration of Independence written by Thomas Jefferson and signed on July 4, 1776.

England could feel something shift the moment the small Amelia faded from their view. Something, though he couldn’t tell what, was throwing the spell off – twisting it and causing it to change from its original purpose. He knew the spell was a wild card when he had casted it, though he refrained from telling France and Canada that, but he certainly hadn’t expected it to change throughout the duration of its use.

Well, crap.

_London, England – 1760_

All three countries knew where they were the moment the scene formed around them.

The tall stone pillars miniaturized them and the golden arches glowed as the deep light flowed into the chamber and along pillars, highlighting the royal blue walls, checkered floors, and ornately carved wooden seats that sat dozens of well-dressed nobles – lords, dukes, and ladies alike – all with their eyes trained on the two people down on the end of the long corridor. The two men where bathed with a background of gold and underneath the largest archway in the room.

Oh, yes, they all knew Westminster Abbey when they saw it.

Canada, France, and England all trained their eyes to the center of the room, where the two men sat still – as if waiting for their cue to begin. Then, time flowed around them.

One of the men, standing behind the other, wore a golden guided coat with a red underlay and a hat that flared out and came to a point at the top.

The Archbishop of Canterbury lifted St Edward's Crown from a high altar and set it gently back down, his prayer bouncing off the wall of the church: "Oh God, the crown of the faithful; bless we beseech thee and sanctify this thy servant our king, and as thou dost this day set a crown of pure gold upon his head, so enrich his royal heart with thine abundant grace, and crown him with all princely virtues through the King Eternal Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen".

And around the room the crown went, form bishop to bishop before coming back to the original Archbishop. The Archbishop’s eyes glanced down at the man sitting before him, who was, by far, the most elaborately dressed man in the room.

This – this man sitting before the Archbishop – was what confused, not only England, but France and Canada as well. It wasn’t a matter of who, but why they were witnessing this ‘memory’, England hadn’t even been present for the coronation of his own king – he had been in North America fighting the frog in a war that wouldn’t end for another three years, if England’s memory was correct – much less small Amelia, who most likely would have caused a ruckus anyway.

The Archbishop lowered St Edward’s Crown onto the now-monarchs head, who rose as soon as the crown came to snugly rest on his head. The Archbishop’s voice resonated throughout the halls once more, “Long live King George III!”

Each guest in the abbey rose with the cry of, "God Save the King" three different times as the trumpeters outside could be heard playing a loud fanfare over the sounds of the church bells and gun salutes from the Tower and Hyde Park. The near deafening sound of a nation celebrating the crowning of a new king swiftly after the death of the old one.

Finally, the Archbishop stood before King George III once more, muttering another prayer as England began to feel the scene about to change once again.

How? How was this possible? Neither England, nor America, nor Canada had been there for the coronation so how exactly could they be witnessing something that they weren’t there for?

England’s mind was racing, wonder what else the spell had in store for the trio. Slightly worried, the nations uneasily listened to the Archbishop’s finally prayer. "God crown you with a crown of glory and righteousness, that having a right faith and manifold fruit of good works, you may obtain the crown of an everlasting kingdom by the gift of him whose kingdom endureth forever."

What exactly had they gotten themselves into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr [here](https://silverphoenixwrites.tumblr.com/)!


	2. Chapter 2

_Jamestown, Virginia - 1763_

“What do you mean I can’t expand west, where the hell am I supposed to go?”

The scene around England, France, and Canada didn’t change – instead they remained sunken into the darkness around them, each looking around for any sign of the angry American that was speaking – instead they found nothing.

“Language, young lady!” another voice answered back. England could remember this argument, the first of many small fractures that had shattered their relationship. “Your sister is part of this empire now and you will treat her as such.”

“But Francis lost and you promised those lands to my people!”[1]

“Relations with the Natives takes precedence,” Arthur replied simply, brushing off Amelia’s argument. His voice became low, deadly and warning, “and if I find any of your colonist west of the Appalachians –”

“What?” Amelia interrupted, her challenge echoing to the three elder nations, “What exactly will you do, Arthur?”

There was a pause, filled with tension at the question posed by the colony – then, a sigh. “I don’t have time to deal with this,” England heard himself mutter under his breath. He imagined himself pinching the bridge of his nose, attempting to fight off the constant headaches that came with running an empire. “Just, behave yourself Amelia.”

There were sounds of footsteps walking away and someone huffing hardly.

“Like you care what happens to me anymore,” the trio heard the dejected colony whisper to herself.

England felt an ice sliver go through his heart as he heard the heart-clenching tone that Amelia spoke with.

 _Crestfallen_ , England decided.

“England,” came a small voice, the worry snapping him out of the argument they just listened to. Canada’s violet eyes bore into his green ones and he could feel France’s attention on him as well. “What’s going on? Why couldn’t we see the memory?”

England closed his eyes, trying to sense a bigger flaw in the spell. “Something,” he began to answer carefully, squeezing his eyes tighter in concentration, “something is wrong. The magic is shifting around us, trying to change.”

“What do you mean?” came France’s voice, a ‘I-knew-this-would-happen’ tone creeping into his voice.

England opened his eyes to look at them, trying to mentally calculate how to explain magic to two non-magic users. “Magic is like a living thing,” England explained, trying to bend the words to fit the accuracy of the reality, “unpredictable and changing –”

“You told us this was safe!” came France’s outrage, his eyes burning his head.

“It is safe Frog!” England quickly shot back, Canada’s pleas for peace falling on deaf ears of the two European nations. “We won’t be harmed, the spell just won’t work the way we thought it was originally going to.”

“ _Mon Dieu_ ,” the Frenchman muttered under his breath, thoroughly convinced that England had doomed them all.

“Don’t ‘ _Mon Dieu_ ’ me,” England sneered back, mocking France’s incredibly thick accent by over emphasizing his own, already horrid, interpretation of a French accent. “We. Will. Be. Fine.”

“If you say so, _Angleterre_ ,” he bitterly muttered once again, crossing his arms in front of him. “But if we die, I’m going to kill you.”

England shot him a weird ‘That-made-no-sense’ face as another scene finally formed before them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1]: In 1763, King George III issued the Proclamation of 1763, preventing the English colonist in the 13 colonies from settling anywhere west of the Appalachian Mountains. This was to stabilize relations with the Native Americans in the Canadian region.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr [here](https://silverphoenixwrites.tumblr.com/)!


	3. Chapter 3

_Boston, Massachusetts – 1764_

Amelia was sitting by the fire, piece of paper in hand, as the soft glow of the inferno casting shadows on her face as she read whatever the document said, her lips moving along with the words on the paper and her face contorting with rage the longer she concentrated on it.

Then, Amelia just looked tired – her eyes looking older in the light of the fire, reflecting her real age rather than her physical, fifteen-year-old body. The crackle of the fire was interrupted by soft footsteps padding down the hallway of Amelia’s Bostonian home. For a moment, England wondered who exactly was coming to see Amelia, until an oddly familiar face walked through the door.

“Amelia?” the young man spoke up, walking over to the colony. At the sound of her name, Amelia looked up, lightly setting the paper down in her lap with her fingers playing with the edges, and gave the man a flashy smile, one that England, France, and Canada could tell was forced. Amelia waved her hand, gesturing for him to sit down in the empty seat across from her. “Did he write back?”

She gave a small nod in response, “Yeah.” Her voice was quiet, defeated almost. The paper Amelia held in her lap was handed over to the man across from her. The curiosity in the room peaked as Amelia continued, “I thought, maybe, he would listen, but he just said I was ‘too incompetent to realize the gravity of the situation.’”

The statement ended with bitterness and sarcasm. England could foggily recall the letter he had received from Amelia about the tax on sugar – the beginning of the Boston unrest. The mysterious man read the letter carefully and Amelia rubbed her face tiredly. Finally, the man spoke up, placing the letter to one side and looking directly at Amelia. “The colonists are talking about a boycott.”[1]

“Good,” Amelia shot back. She gave a sharp huff and seized the letter. “After all,” she made eye contact with the man across from her, a small smile quirking up on her face, “no taxation without representation.”[2]

The letter was thrown into the fire and a similar smile broke on Samuel Adams’ face as he recognized the phrase.

“I can only hope that he’ll listen,” Amelia continued under her breath, carefully studying the burning paper in the fireplace.

“Maybe its best if he doesn’t.”

“Sam…” she huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We’ve discussed this.”

“Yes, and maybe one day, you’ll listen,” said Sam, rising out of his chair and making his way to the door, stopping to shake Amelia’s hand, “Good evening Miss Jones.”

“Mr. Adams,” Amelia responded, giving Sam’s hand a firm shake and flashing him one of her early million-watt smiles before leading him out of the room. After Samuel departed, Amelia went back to studying the fire, her hands clasped behind her back as her shadow interrupted the orange ray on the floor with a dark streak. “He’ll listen,” she whispered to herself, desperation creeping into her voice as she tried assure herself of what was to come, “he has too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1]: In August of 1764 Bostonian merchants began to boycott British luxury goods in protest of the Sugar Act.
> 
> [2]: The term "no taxation without representation"derived from the phrase "taxation without representation is tyranny," which was coined by James Otis in approximately 1761.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr [here](https://silverphoenixwrites.tumblr.com/)!


	4. Chapter 4

_Boston, Massachusetts – June 1765_

The first thing the trio saw was the streets of Boston. Cold, damp, and defiantly instigating growth of a possibly deadly mold on the uneven bricks of nearby buildings.

 _Ah, the 18 th century_, England thought sarcastically, _the peak of personal hygiene_.

But that wasn’t the thing that took the trio by surprise, no, what took the countries by surprise was when a dark figure came running around the corner of the street and ran into Canada, nearly knocking the poor girl over.

“Sorry, Miss,” the man said, his words broken by the huffs of breath coming out of his mouth. “I’m late.”

At this point in time, England probably would’ve made an _Alice in Wonderland_ reference, but he was too stunned by the fact that Canada had just been run over by someone who shouldn’t have been able to touch her in the first place.

“If it is not to bold of a question, late to what?” France asked the man, seeming to recover his wits quicker than England.

“A meeting.”

 _A meeting_ , England couldn’t help but think. _Well that certainly is helpful._

“Meeting to what?” he asked aloud, wondering what on Earth justified being out at this time of night.

A wide smile broke out on the man’s face, “Follow me.”

And so they did, the nation’s casting worried glances between themselves as they blindly followed the strange man through the dark streets of Boston.

Don’t do this at home kids!

Then, the city cleared, leaving an open patch of land stretching out in front of them. For a moment, England wondered why in the world this meeting of his would be in a park at this time of night, but then he saw the massive elm and the small group of men clustered underneath it.

“I know this place,” Canada spoke up suddenly, lowering her voice to where only the other two nations could hear her. She took a tentative step towards the group of men, “Hanover Square[1]. America dragged me here one time after a meeting to have a picnic, said it was important to her.”

“Ah!” one of the men under the tree said, making to stand up to greet their guide as they came closer. “Mr Revere, glad you could join us, and I see you brought some friends.”

“My deepest apologize Samuel, had a bit of an incident at home.”

“Did you fall asleep?”

No answer.

“Aww, it must be past his bedtime,” came a teasing female voice from the group of shadowed men.

Amelia.

England could feel himself hold his breath. If Amelia recognized him, he didn’t know what would happen. Would the memory end? Would the spell send them back? Would history be ruined?

If the younger nation recognized her mentor, she made no comment on it.

England released his breath and whispered under his breath, “She doesn’t recognize us.”

The tension that had suddenly appeared in the other two nations disappeared and the conversation continued.

“Who are your friends Paul?”

“People I ran into on the streets, figured they might be interested in what’s going on here.”

A silence ran through the group, seeming to be silently judging the newcomers – trying to test their trust worthiness, seeing as this midnight meeting was probably illegal.

“They spies?” someone finally asked through the silence.

“Why would they be spies; we haven’t even done anything illegal yet. Right, Amelia?”

“According to _English_ law, no, not yet.”

“Very well, take a seat gentlemen,” Adam’s said, gesturing to the cold ground next to where Paul Revere had taken up residence.

They did silent, worried that one false move would label them as ‘spies’ and that they would be dragged through the streets of Boston naked on the back of a horse. Sounds ridiculous, but England had seen it before.

“Now, gentlemen and ladies,” Sam began as the trio settled. “Welcome to the first official meeting of the Sons of Liberty.”

England nearly choked on his own tongue.

It made sense, looking back on it, that America had been a member of the traitorous, barbaric group, but a founding member?

He didn’t think that Amelia had been so rebellious so long before the Revolution had escalated.

He had thought wrong.

Amelia sat silently throughout the meeting, watching Samuel Adams with a sort of awe, soaking in every word he said. And every word he said was against England.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haven't left one of these for a while, so here it goes!
> 
> [1]: Hanover Square is said to be the original meeting place for the Sons of Liberty, it wasn't until later that bartenders, sympathetic to their cause, allowed them to meet in their taverns (the most famous being The Green Dragon). The tree in Hanover Square that they are meeting under is, in fact, the Liberty Tree.
> 
> Fun Fact: The Son's of Liberty had two branches! One in Boston and one in New York City. The meeting place for the New York branch was called the Liberty Pole.
> 
> Okay! I hope you enjoyed this! Don't forget to leave a comment, I welcome constructive criticism if you guys have any!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr [here](https://silverphoenixwrites.tumblr.com/)!


	5. A Letter to Canada #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After writing a secret letter to England, Amelia decides to write one to Canada, talking about things that she could never really talk about in person.

August 10th, 1991

Mattie,

I know that you never understood why I did what I did. Sometimes I still feel the ghost rift of opinion and wonder if I really did do the right thing. I know I did, deep down, but I still wonder what would’ve happened if I had simply stuck it out, if I had just taken it. I don’t think about it for very long – I can’t.

It’s weird though, I don’t even remember when the switch happened – I do remember when Arthur came to visit and I was suddenly taller, now that was weird. After that, something had just…changed. He treated me differently, like something had changed between us simply because I had grown a few inches. There were times I wondered where my big brother had gone, and why this strange, cruel, tyrannical man had replaced him. I never told you this, I never told anyone, but after the War, after you came to live with us, I got jealous. Now that is something you would probably be able to guess. I don’t doubt that you figured that out a long time ago.

Don’t get me wrong, the years without you were excruciatingly lonely. I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to visit just to see you, just to be able to talk to you. That hurt more than anything. I was alone after my independence – which was not something I had expected. Mexico hated me and you? Well, you were something that I had fought to escape. But after all of those years, those wars, I couldn’t bring myself to hold a grudge – not against you. So when the border opened up, when Arthur finally allowed for us to talk again, that was one of the best days of my life. To finally see my sister again. Maybe that’s why we’re so close now? Who knows? We’ve both had hiccups, we’ve both made mistakes, we’ve both tried to hurt each other, but in the end we can successfully say that we have the longest undefended border in the world. That’s not something to be taken lightly.

No matter what we’ve gone through, I trust you Mattie, and I can only hope that you trust me to have your back. I always will.

But I can’t help but say that I still envy you. I did then, I do now.

I can’t help it though – it seems like every misstep of mine is compared to every perfect little thing you do. The Golden Colony – the Good Girl.

I know how you wish that you could be seen, how you could take my place in the spotlight, and believe me, I would trade with you in a heartbeat. You’re quiet, out of the way, able to do whatever you want without fear of being scolded or reprimanded or watched. I don’t get that. I don’t get privacy – hell, I can’t even take one breath without someone saying something. I wish I could disappear – simply fade and be able to do things without someone breathing down my neck.

It was always like that though – I was always being held up to your image from the moment you became an English colony.

I even remember back when I was still a colony – one instance out of many.

 

Arthur was sitting in his office, going over some paperwork or some shit like that, and I had gone to see him, holding some crumpled piece of paper of God-knows what tax. I was furious and desperately trying to hold onto any patience I had left. Arthur had regarded me with a lazy expression, probably preparing for another argument – something that seemed to be happening more and more.

“This isn’t fair!” I had seethed, waving the new tax in front of his face and slamming it down on his desk.

Arthur had taken a deep breath, pinched the bridge of his nose, and considered me – probably trying to hold onto the same patience as me. “It’s plenty fair. I protected you from France, the least you could do is show some gratitude.”

“Gratitude?” I huffed. Two mixed feelings churned inside me. Anger or surprised? Oh, no, not surprised. It seemed nothing Arthur did was a surprise at that point. What was next? Was he gonna make me cater to his every whim? As if that would ever happen. “Gratitude?! You come here, to my house, after an entire year with nothing as much as a letter, push me around, treat me like I am a child, tax my people without my consent, and you want gratitude?”

“Stop acting like a child, the tax is perfectly reasonable,” he said, giving me obvious signals to dismiss the matter, but I didn’t leave. No, I still had more to say.

“I can’t believe this, I can’t believe you.”

“Just pay the tax and be done with it,” he reasoned, probably to tired to be fighting over the small matter of tax – him and me both. I knew, though, that he thought that there were much more important things to be done. “Why can’t you just be like Madeline and pay the damn tax?!”

Something snapped in me after that. What was it? Resentment? Hatred?

Arthur knew very well that I didn’t like being compared to you – especially over who was the better colony.

“I am _not_ my sister!” I fumed, slamming my hands down on the desk and glaring at Arthur – no, not Arthur, England - daring him to make another comparison between me and the ‘Golden Colony’ up north.

England simply rolled his eyes and gave a deep sigh. “Please don’t make this difficult America.”

 

Nothing changed after that, if anything it only got worse. We fought and unrest grew, especially in Boston and New York. My people were outraged, but I was conflicted – a choice between you and England or my people. But, if England taught me anything, it’s that your people come before you. Always.

Don’t tell him I said that. I’ll never live it down.

Part of me wanted to hold on, I wished that my brother would come back and realize what he was doing. I wanted him to see.

He never did. And neither did you, it seems.

You still took his side, even after I begged you to come with me. I never held it against you though. Was I disappointed? Yeah. Was I surprised? No. I knew what the odds looked like – a tiny colony against a well-oiled empire. I understood, I still do.

You’re my best friend Mattie, never think otherwise, and, despite what other might say, I always see you and I always will.

Wow, that was sappy. Like really sappy. Wow.

Yeah, did I mention Kiku is making me do this? Well, not making me – no one could do that – but he suggested it. I still don’t think that it’s working but whatever. Kiku’s cool, so I’ll humor him. He did tell me it would ‘make me feel better’ or whatever, I wrote one to England a while back. If he ever reads that – I am so screwed. Hell, I hope you never read this one, I don’t think I would be able to withstand the embarrassment.

Here’s hoping you never read this,

Amelia F. Jones

The United States of America

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Letter to England is the 2nd chapter of Yankee Doodle, in which America talks about how see saw England change after the Seven Years War.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr [here](https://silverphoenixwrites.tumblr.com/)!


	6. Chapter 6

_Boston, Massachusetts – March 18, 1766_

England thought it couldn’t get any worse. Well, at least not this early in the timeline. Because of this, he completely expected the next event to be something extremely big, perhaps in Boston – because Lord knows that colony was rebellious enough; what he didn’t expect was for the first words that he heard to be a twelve-year-old Amelia shouting, “I’m so fucking pissed!” at the top of her lungs. He was so stunned in fact that, as the scene materialized in front of them, and they materialized into the scene, the shock still shone on his face. Canada would latter have described it as ‘comical’ while France was ‘honhon’ing in the background of the room.

The room was small, with a handful of people standing dutifully by the walls, and brightly lit with the successfully combination of the sunlight blasting through the window and the small amount of candles that were lit strategically around the room. Each of the different men in the room watched the angry colony pace up and down the middle of the room, her corn-flour colored hair swinging in a braid behind her back, with a range of different faces. Some held the shock of a eighteenth century man who just witnessed a small girl colorfully cursing, similar to England’s current expression, while others – specifically an older gentleman sitting down in a chair with a walking stick propped beside him – seemed amused by the sudden outburst.

Most, however, seemed too afraid to correct or scold the furious girl.

Finally, the gentleman with the walking stick spoke up, his voice soft, yet firm and barely hiding a mischievous chuckle, “Amelia, my girl, calm down.”

“No, Franklin, this is not okay!”

“The English have promised to repeal the Stamp Act –”

“Yes, in return for having utter authority in ‘all cases whatsoever’ and setting me up for whatever shit he wants to throw at me next!”[1]

England was almost surprised at the colony’s insight into the situation because, yes – he remembered – that is exactly what the Declaratory Act had implied. It was supposed to make Amelia more susceptible to his laws and, in the wake of the repeal of the Stamp Act, he’d gotten away with it. At least, he thought he had.

“I guess she was more perceptive than you thought,” France whispered to him, voicing England’s exact thoughts.

“America has always been pretty smart,” Canada added, her voice nearly half the volume of France’s, “it just comes out in weird ways.”

“We must count the victory while we can,” Benjamin told her, trying to reason with Amelia, who still paced back and forth at a calmer pace than before. At Franklin’s words, Amelia stopped completely, her eyes running over England, France, and Canada but not lighting up in recognition. Her shoulders sagged in defeat. “Your people worked and fought very hard to achieve this repeal and they won.”

“I guess you’re right,” she mumbled stubbornly, her blue eyes casting downward. “But this won’t be the last time.”

“No,” Franklin agreed, placing a comforting hand on Amelia’s shoulder. “The battle is won, but the war is far from over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1]: On March 18, 1766 British Parliament repealed the Stamp Act, which had caused massive amounts of protest throughout the colonies. However, on the same day, they passed the Declaratory Act which bound the American colonies to Parliament's absolute power, saying that they had the authority to "make laws and statutes of sufficient force and validity to bind the colonies and people of America...in all cases whatsoever." The wording was purposely left ambiguous and, because many colonist saw the repeal of the Stamp Act as a victory and were to busy being happy over that, the law went mostly unprotested. However, some, like Amelia, saw that this left the Thirteen Colonies at the mercy of the Crown - similar to the Irish Declaratory Act, which said pretty much the same thing.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr [here](https://silverphoenixwrites.tumblr.com/)!


	7. Chapter 7

“These are the times that try men’s souls.” -Thomas Paine[1]

_Boston, Massachusetts – March 5, 1770_

They were on the streets of Boston once again – the cooling March air nipping at their noses and the patches of snow crunching underneath their feet. Immediately, England, France, and Canada were pushed and shoved around in the crowd that surrounded them – lurching forward and then retreating like an animal too afraid to attack its prey. The colonists around them were armed - some held pitchforks, others rocks, the rest with snowballs – and they were certainly angry.

“Where are we?!” a startled Canada asked as a colonist dug an elbow into her back.

“ _Angleterre_ ,” France said, tugging at England’s arm.

“What?” he nearly shouted over the outraged crowd. France pointed to the front of the crowd, were a small group of English Redcoats were cornered against a nearby building like small school children lost in a crowd. Several mob members angrily threw an ice/snowball mix at the soldiers and others jeered at them, taunting them to fire their shiny, muskets into the crowd.  
In the middle of the soldiers, England saw his past self - Arthur Kirkland – with a musket slung over his shoulder and green eyes alit with panic; the Redcoats around him skittered restlessly as the mob grew more rampant and the snowballs came in never-ending waves. “Do not fire! I repeat: Do not fire!”

England could feel the dread settle deep in his gut. There weren’t many times in his history that England was willing to admit that he fucked up – no, he was too prideful for that – but this night, this was one instance he was willing to admit that he had made a grave error. And if the American Revolution had started anywhere, at any time, it was here.

Because this was the night that –

Someone shoved into him, a young girl trying to pushed her way towards the center of the crowd. Amelia. England could practically feel the questioning look in her eyes as she shoved people out of the way to get to her brother at the center of the riot.

And then, the world stood still.

No one gave the order.

No one said to fire.

But a shot rang out, and then a ripple of shots.

Some smoke filled the air from the discharged muskets and several panicked voices mangled their way into the air. Many screamed and ran away from the scene – too afraid of what the soldiers would do next – and the trio could feel themselves being pulled along with the current. Yeah, somehow, the smoke cleared and they stood firmly in the same place that they crowd had dissipated.

There were five bodies lying on the ground around them– red puddles of blood staining the snow.[2]

England could see Amelia standing over the dead bodies, not clearly processing the situation. Her posture was ridged and her eyes glazed over, as if – at any moment – she expected for her brother himself to put a bullet through her heart, just like the colonists around her.

“You idiots!” Arthur managed to scream at the stunned soldiers around him. He made his way over to Amelia, who still stood in the mists of the carnage, and placed a gentle, loving hand on her shoulder – trying to offer what little sympathy he could give. But England could see the gears working in Amelia’s brain – telling her that, to Arthur, the bodies around them were colonist and nothing more than uncultured, peasants that he’d sent over so that America could grow. To Amelia, they were her people, her children – the one’s she was supposed to protect, the one’s that made her, her. And Arthur had just slaughter them.

They were nothing to Arthur and, in that moment, Amelia realized that.

When she spoke, it was barely a horse, broken whisper, “This is your fault.”

England could see the tears in her eyes, but Amelia stubbornly held them back. She wasn’t going to cry, no – this was not the moment to cry. This was the moment to become angry. Behind her, Arthur’s hand slipped from her shoulder and the familiar crunch of snow as he backed away from her.

“Now wait a minute-”

Immediately, the tears in Amelia’s eyes were filled with rage. Only the type of rage that a hundred-year-old being could conjure in a twelve-year-old’s body. Amelia was having none of it.

“How dare you even think that you could justify killing my people!” Amelia screamed, her blood boiling as her first balled up at her side. Amelia turned on her brother, looking him directly in the eye and pointing an accusing finger at him, “If you would’ve listened to me, none of this would’ve happened in the first place!”

“You are out of line young lady!”

England’s stomach dropped at the sound of his own voice scolding the colony. Later, America would ask him if he knew the reason she had rebelled. He knew the answer now; England could see his own unreasonableness, his own blindness towards America. He had thought, long ago, that there was too much love and admiration – that America relied on him too much – for America to leave. And oh, how wrong he had been.

“Am I?” She let the question hang and risked a sad glance at the bodies surrounding her. Something pulled at her heart. Pity, guilt, sorrow. Why did these people have to die? How many more had to die? “All these people wanted was to be heard.”

“A colony is meant to be seen, America, not heard.”

And for the second time in that memory, England could feel the world around him slow. Did he just really say that? Even Amelia had a look of shock on her face. Maybe she misheard or misunderstood. Something in her prayed for it to be a mistake, prayed that he meant something different; another part of her wanted it to be what she thought it meant.

“We’re English citizens, we own the right to voice our opinions.”

“You are colonists. Act like it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1]: Tomas Paine actually wrote this in 1776 to open his pamphlet "The American Crisis". The full quote (one of which that appears in the Valley Forge song of the Hamilton Mix Tape) is the following: "These are the times that try men's souls. The summer solider and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph."
> 
> [2]:On March 5, 1770, five Bostonians were killed by English Redcoats while protesting the Townshend Acts. The soldiers in charge of the squad were arrested for manslaughter, but were later acquitted in court. Their defender in court was John Adams.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr [here](https://silverphoenixwrites.tumblr.com/)!


	8. Chapter 8

"[There emerged a] kind of uniformed nationalism…growing up with more and more men in more and more colonies speaking and writing of an American cause that they largely defined in terms of protecting American liberties against British tyranny.” -Richard C. Simmons[1]

_Boston, Massachusetts - December 16, 1773_

The night was crisp and the sound of the choppy Massachusetts water slapping up against the wooden boat docks filled the trio’s ears as the memory formed before them. It was nighttime and the only evidence that they were surrounded by a rather large group of men were the silhouettes of figures illuminated by the warm glow of the torchlight and the silvery light of the full moon above.

Almost immediately England’s face became sticky and his head became heavy. He brought his fingers up to his face and gently scraped some of the sticky substance off of his cheek – face paint, he determined after squinting to see the substance in the poor lighting.

“Get down!” a shouted whisper came from behind them. England felt himself being pulled down and felt long feathers tickle his elbows all the way down to his heels. A headdress, England deduced quickly, an Indian headdress to be precise. Indian attire. Harbor. It didn’t take him long to determine where and when he was. The same voice spoke behind him again, but this time closer and more recognizable. Amelia. “They’ll see you!”

The young colony gestured to the three Redcoat guards just past the crates they were hiding behind. Behind them was a wooden plank leading to a ship, which rocked back and forth with the waves of the harbor. Amelia opened her mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by a familiar young man – Sam Adams spoke in a hushed whisper to those around him, “You all know what to do.”

Seconds later, three ‘American Indians’ had taken out the three Redcoat guards and England followed hesitantly followed the group up the rickety plank and onto the darkened, and now unguarded, deck of the cargo ship. Beside him, Canada squinted at the label of a crate and tapped England on the shoulder. “It’s all labeled as tea,” she said, gesturing towards the towers of crates.

Before England could respond a giant _splash_ resonated through the air. The trio ran to the side of the ship, only to see a box of tea sinking into the depths of Boston Harbor. Then it was followed by another. And another. And another. And another.

And England, Canada, and France watched as the ship was emptied of the crates of tea.

Nearby Amelia froze in the middle of tipping one of the last crates over the edge of the ship and, instead, turned to look towards England. She stepped back and gestured towards the crate, “You want the honors?”

England swallowed and shook his head. He was not certainly NOT going to dump his precious tea into the Harbor nor was he planning on participating in such a violent and reckless act that would most certainly led his colony to rebel further.

Amelia’s sky blue eyes met his, “If you’re scared, don’t be. They won’t know it was us, how could they?”

“Aren’t you worried about what your brother would do?” England responded, feeling awkward about referring to himself in the third person (not that Amelia would know that).

Suspicion sparked in her eyes, but Amelia carefully responded anyway, “My brother is beyond reason. In fact, I would go as far to say he’s gone.” As she spoke, Amelia walked back over to the crate of tea, still tilting on the edge of the boat. Sadness filled her face as she placed a single hand on the crate and continued. “There’s nothing that remains of him except the cruel, merciless British Empire. Sometimes we must sacrifice the needs of the few for the needs of the many. My people take precedent over my relationship with my brother, no matter how much it hurts me.” The colony tipped the crate over the edge with one final push, but the splash is made in the water was hollow. Amelia took another step towards the trio, the torchlight lighting her painted face and leaving behind shadows that aged her greatly. “It’s not too late to repair what has been done, but I do not fear standing in the way of tyranny and injustice. My brother may be my elder, but that does not make him wise or all knowing.”

The trio was stunned by the small colony before them, not expecting the determination that came from her. The moment was broken, however, by Sam Adams, who clapped Amelia on the back with a huge smile on his painted face. “That was the last box!”  Immediately, a huge smile cracked Amelia’s serious face and she let off a giddy laugh. “That’ll send one hell of a message!”

“46 tons of tea straight into the Harbor.[2]” Amelia said wistfully, as the group quickly departed, escaping the Redcoat response that was sure to come soon. The trio followed behind, trying to stay close to the two Patriots. “You, Mr. Adams, are a genius.”

As they walked through the streets of Boston, the group became clearer and more visible. Amelia’s face, which they could know fully see, was painted in a deep red color and the tails of her headpiece trailed behind her in floating wisps.

Adams gave a deep bow, a grin wide on his face, “Why thank you, Miss Jones, I do try.”

Amelia gave a boisterous laugh in response and began skipping down the paved streets with her arms flung out to the sides for balance. The group came to a stop a single street away from a very familiar looking home. America’s Boston home was nearly sacred to her, more like a museum than a home, as she rarely stayed in it but refused to sell it. Too many memories, she said. And right now, England could see a light coming through the window nearest to the door.

Amelia gave one, last laugh and separated from the group, only to turn the street corner and see Arthur standing on the front steps to her house, arms crossed behind his back and face twisted into an emotion so horrid that there were no words to describe it. Amelia’s smile faded immediately.

“Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1]: A quote from The American Colonies: From Settlement to Independence written by Richard C. Simmons in 1981.
> 
> [2]:On December 16, 1773 approximately 30-130 members of the Sons of Liberty, disguised as Mohawk warriors, snuck onto three East Indiana Trading Company trading ships docked in Boston Harbor. The members dumped 342 chests of tea into the Harbor over the course of three hours to protest the Tea Act of 1773. The event was known as the Boston Tea Party and is one of the most famous events leading up to the American Revolution.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr [here](https://silverphoenixwrites.tumblr.com/)!


	9. Chapter 9

“This Town had received the Copy of an Act of the British Parliament, wherein it appears that we have been tried and condemned, and are to be punished, by the shutting up of the harbor and other marks of revenge…” -Samuel Adams, May 14, 1774 [1]

_Philadelphia, Pennsylvania – October 26, 1774_

If there was one thing England certainly didn’t like to remember about colonial America, besides the obvious, was the nearly intolerable heat during the summer and fall months. So when the time traveling trio landed in an incredibly stuffy, furnace-like room filled with an overabundance of men, it was bound to get a little warm.

 _Thank God America invented air conditioning_ [2], England thought as he felt beads of sweat collect on his forehead. Beside him, England saw Canada pull at the collar of her shirt, desperately trying to get cool air to flow down her shirt in a vain attempt to cool off.

It didn’t take very long for the heat to get to her though, because, moments later, England saw her bend over, place her hands on her knees, and whisper, “God, how does America do this?” to herself. England chuckled to himself – his thoughts exactly.

On the other side of him, England saw France open his mouth to say something, probably to complain about the heat as well, but before a word could leave his mouth, something England was always grateful for, a loud _bang_ came from the back of the room as a preteen Amelia sprinted in, attracting the attention of everyone. Her face was red and covered with long trails of sweat, her long, braided hair was trailing in a long wisp behind her, and her blue eyes searched, almost frantically, for someone amongst the crowd of men in the stuffed room.

“What did I miss?” the young colony finally asked, giving up her search and addressing the entire room.

A younger man, towards the back of the room, simply huffed in amusement and approached her, casually throwing an arm over her shoulders.

“Just a bunch of squabbling,” Samuel Adams said as the rest of the room began to fill with a light chatter. With less attention on them, Adams lowered his voice, “but I was beginning to fear that you weren’t going to show up.”

“Arthur was visiting,” the trio heard Amelia whisper back evenly. “He was here to enforce the Coercive Acts in Boston and I couldn’t leave his side till he left. He’s getting worse every time he visits.”

“Well, with the way this meeting is going, I don’t believe we will make any progress.”

“None?” Amelia said, disappointment creeping into her voice.

Samuel shook his head, “We are too divided. John and I are trying to convince the others to develop a statement to Parliament defining out rights and liberties, to take actions against Parliament’s abused authority, but the others simply want the Acts to be annulled[3].”

Something twisted on Amelia’s face, like something fowl had filled the air. England sniffed the air, just to be sure, but all he smelled was the thick dust in the air. “John is here?”

“Now Amelia…” Adams began in warning.

“What?” she replied, trying to maintain innocence. “I’m not bitter[4].”

“Of course not,” the man chuckled. “But there is someone I want you to meet.”

A flicker of curiosity flittered across Amelia’s face as Samuel led her towards a group of men chatting closer to the trio. As they walked closer, Amelia’s eyes seemed to fix on one of the taller men in the group, the tallest in fact. Her eyes seemed to grow wide and her lips parted slightly in an awe-inspired fashion.

There was no illusion to England who the man was.

“Amelia,” Samuel said, as the taller man recognized their approach and turned to them, a small smile on his face. “This is George Washington of Virginia.”

Amelia simply nodded towards Washington, at a loss for words. England could say he knew the feeling. Every country could. There was a sort of ethereal glow that surrounded the first leader of every nation, inspiring hope and instilling wisdom amongst not only the people, but the countries themselves. England knew there were somethings he knew he would never forget from his first leader, in both the monarchial and the democratic systems he adopted.

“Amelia,” she finally said, reaching of a hand. Washington took it and politely shook it as Amelia continued. “Amelia F. Jones.”

“It is a pleasure, Miss Jones,” the future leader said with a bow. At the front of the room, a man announced the beginning of a meeting. With it, Washington smiled and released her hand. “I am sure we will see each other again.”

“I’m sure we will,” Amelia muttered to herself as Washington went to take his place on the floor of the hall. Samuel gave Amelia a hearty pat on the back and followed Washington to his own seat. “I’m sure we will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1]: Samuel Adams wrote this in a letter to James Warren concerning the Intolerable Acts. These acts consisted of the Coercive Acts and the Quebec Act. There were four main parts to the Coercive Acts: the Boston Port Act, which closed the Boston Harbor in response to the Boston Tea Party; the Massachusetts Government Act, which regulated of the government of the Massachusetts Bay Colony; the Administration of Justice Act, which increased the authority of British soldiers to suppress riots and maintain order in Massachusetts; and the Quartering Act, which forced the citizens of Massachusetts to house, feed, and provide for all British soldiers in North America. Finally, the Quebec Act, which was separate from the Coercive Acts, recognized the Roman Catholic Church in Quebec and appointed a council (instead of elected officials) in charge of Quebec; this spread outrage among the American colonies because the majority were Protestant. All five acts together were considered the Intolerable Acts.
> 
> [2]: Air conditioning was invented in America by a man named Willis Carrier in 1902.
> 
> [3]: Conservatives at the First Continental Congress, like John Jay, wanted the Intolerable Acts to be rescinded and to developed a peaceful solution with the British Empire; Liberals, like Samuel and John Adams, wanted to clearly defined the rights/liberties as colonists and to end Parliaments abuse of authority in the colonies. At this time, no thought of Revolution or of becoming an independent country had occurred. The colonist still thought of themselves as British and wanted the equality and representation of someone living in England at the time. All ‘revolutionary’ acts up until this point were acts of protest against whatever act Parliament had implemented at the time.
> 
> [4]: John Adams, the second President of the United States, defended the English soldiers, who were responsible for the Boston Massacre, in court.
> 
> Fun Fact #1: Several Founding Fathers were not present at the First Continental Congress. This included: Alexander Hamilton, Thomas Jefferson, and Benjamin Franklin.
> 
> Fun Fact #2: There were 56 delegates at the First Continental Congress and 12 colonies represented. The only colony to not send delegates was Georgia.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr [here](https://silverphoenixwrites.tumblr.com/)!


	10. Chapter 10

“By the rude bridge that arched the flood/Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled/Here once the embattled farmers stood/And fired the shot heard round the world.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1837. [1]

_Concord, Massachusetts - April 19, 1775_

There was an obvious difference between the two standing armies of the British Empire and the American Militiamen. [2]

One, disorganized, ragged, and armed with nothing but a few muskets, stood in an uneven line. The other clean, in crisp red uniforms, aiming skillfully at the other with polished muskets. England, France, and Canada stood, disoriented and surrounded by the rag-tag group of men, looking onwards at the overwhelmingly impeccable British Army. Arthur stood among them, the only one without a musket raised, with his hands joined behind his back, chin tilted upward in a demandingly prestigious air, and a wicked looking musket resting casually over his shoulder. Arthur’s emerald eyes were focused on the pre-teen colony who stood opposite him in front of the rebels, her shoulders pushed back and the air around her electrified with confidence despite the state of the men behind her.

England felt a surge of pride through him, almost forgetting that it was him that Amelia was fighting against.

“Don’t do this Amelia,” England heard himself warn in an even voice.

 _One chance_ , England remembered thinking, _He would give his sister one chance. And he begged to God that she took it and put this foolish nonsense aside_ , “Stand aside.”

Amelia’s voice came out even and cool, sending chills down the trios’ spines as the colony looked Arthur in the eyes – the fires of the rebellion in those blue skies, “Why?”

Never before had France or Canada seen Amelia in this state – calm and serious, different from the bubbly, adult Amelia that graced them at every meeting or helped them when they asked. This Amelia was a nation, born of a culture and people and, now, a rebellion.

Arthur looked at her and England could practically read his own mind.

She didn’t realize what she was doing, she couldn’t. Amelia was simply a child who knew nothing of how the world worked, “Do you not realize the implications of what you are doing? If you and your minutemen do not stand down, I will have no choice but to see this as an act of war against the British Empire.”

A smirk etched its way onto her face as she drew a pistol from her belt. With a final burst of fire in her eyes, she spoke, “This is an act of war.”

The pistol went off in Amelia’s hands and the shot rang, echoing through the field and traveling long past the vibrations of the air. It rang to each colony in the Americas; it rang in the heart of London and on the streets of Paris; it rang deep into the hearts of every colonist, man, woman, and child, who yearned for the freedom at stake.

The shot rang and the American Revolution had begun. [3]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1]: From the _Concord Hymn_ , written by Ralph Waldo Emerson and sung at the dedication of the Memorial Obelisk (which can be seen on the adjacent, eastern bank of the North Bridge) on July 4, 1837, which commemorated the Battles of Lexington and Concord.
> 
> [2]: The American Colonies didn’t have a standing army when the Revolutionary War broke out. In fact, the Battle of Lexington and Concord was fought by the Massachusetts militiamen to defend Patriot military supplies.
> 
> [3]: The Battle of Lexington and Concord was the official beginning of the American Revolution. Just before the Battle began, the Massachusetts colony was declared to be in a state of rebellion.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr [here](https://silverphoenixwrites.tumblr.com/)!


	11. Chapter 11

“Don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes!” – Colonel William Prescott, June 17, 1775 [1]

_Charlestown, Massachusetts - June 17, 1775_

There was a silence that rang through the air.

American soldiers that crouched down amongst the foliage seemed to be holding their breaths while fidgeting with the firearms in their hands. With the atmosphere around them, England couldn’t help but play with the golden buttons on his coat jacket.

In the light of the early morning, England could see the dew on the grass of the hill and feel the crunch of the leaves underneath him. Even the American colonial flag stayed still on its pole, with the thirteen stripes folding over each other and hiding the Great Union Flag in the corner [2].

England looked around for Amelia amongst the soldiers, searching for her then long hair or her naturally energetic nature. Instead, each soldier was perfectly still in their place.

Until two figures appeared on horseback, riding over the crest of the hill with the morning sun. The thumping of the hooves beat steadily with the beating of the hearts of the soldiers around them.

“General Putnam!” came Amelia’s shout as she quickly dismounted. The young, pre-teen girl was huffing and frantically scanning each of the soldiers’ faces, a sheen of sweat covering her own face.

“General Putnam!” echoed the man, who dismounted with Amelia and followed her lead in searching for the General.

England watched carefully as another man rushed through the collection of soldiers, looking at the two scouts expectantly.

“Well?”

“Howe just landed south of here,” Amelia said in a slightly winded voice. She shook her head, looking around worriedly before continuing, her voice lowered hesitantly, “He has at least two-thousand, maybe twenty-five-hundred, redcoats armed to the teeth [3].”

Solemnly, General Putnam nodded, “Very well, thank you both.”

Both scouts nodded and began to disperse amongst the men. Instead, the General grasped Amelia by the upper arm to prevent her from leaving.

“Miss Jones,” Putnam began. “May I have a word?”

England heard Amelia groan and pulled her arm from his grasp, rolling her eyes in the process. “Yes, sir?”

“A Mr. Thomas Jefferson has requested your presence in Philadelphia,” the General said, offering the girl a folded piece of paper.

Amelia snatched the paper from the General and unfolded it, her blue eyes scanning the paper hurriedly and lips moving soundlessly with the words on the page. Then, she squinted suspiciously and looked back towards General Putnam. “This doesn’t request my presence until early July. Philadelphia is a week’s ride from here.”

“Honestly, Miss Jones, I was hoping you could leave before the battle begins.”

“And why’s that?”

England could see General Putnam close his eyes and sigh.

Next to him, Canada cringed, “Oh no.”

England suddenly dreaded the General’s next words.

“Well, the battlefield is really no place for a woman and..”

“Stop.”

And oh, if looks could kill.

Amelia’s eyes burned with an incredible rage.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Amelia asked, her voice deadly calm. England thought that she might actually end up killing the General anyways, screw historical relevance. England knew that most female nations had a more difficult time being involved in their histories (he also knew that Ireland and Canada could both get really, really scary and that Prussia had some stories to tell about Hungary), but he never considered the fact that America had also run into those prejudices. Though, the more England thought about it the more he knew America met those hurdles with a less than lady-like touch and a more get-the-fuck-out-of-my-way mentality.

“That’s an order Miss Jones.”

“Only General Washington can order me around,” she snapped back, taking a step towards the General, “and unfortunately for you, he’s not here.”

“Miss Jone-”

“With all due respect, _sir_ ,” Amelia began, cutting him off quickly. “These men are risking their lives for this nation, even in the face of an impossible situation. You and I both know that you don’t have enough supplies or men to last, but they are staying here to fight because they believe in what this nation can, and will, be. So, you can be damned if you think I’m going to leave these men because of the stupid fucking organs I have between my legs.”

“Miss Jones, I – ”

“If the next words out of your mouth refer to my sex, then you can go shove a bayonet up your ass.”

The General remained silent as Amelia walked past him and disappeared into a nearby tent.

Next to England, a victorious smile was plastered on Canada’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1]: Colonel William Prescott shouted this to his soldiers in the Battle of Bunker Hill. It was in an effort to conserve gunpowder and supplies while fighting the British bombardment, of which vastly outnumbered the Americans.
> 
> [2]: At the time of Revolution, the American Colonial Flag was thirteen red and white stripes (like the Stars and Stripes) combined with the Great Union Flag. The Great Union Flag was the flag of Britain (and later Great Britain) from 1606-1801 and combined St Andrew’s Cross (Scotland) and St George’s Cross (England). Later, St Patrick’s Cross (Ireland) would be added to create the Union Jack in 1801.
> 
> [3]: British General William Howe landed in Charlestown, Massachusetts, just south of Breed’s Hill, with approximately 2,400 troops.
> 
> [Fun Fact #1]: The majority of the Battle of Bunker Hill was actually fought on Breed’s Hill, which was in the direct path of General Howe’s landing point and Bunker Hill.
> 
> [Fun Fact #2]: Even though the Battle of Bunker Hill was officially a British victory, the American moral was lifted. This was due to the fact that the British sustained heavier casualties than the Americans.
> 
> Hello all! And Happy Holidays! Nothing says Happy Holidays like some 1700s sexism. Yay! Anyways, I hope you all have Happy Holidays and an absolutely amazing New Year. Let’s hope 2018 is better and brighter than 2017. In other news, look out for a surprise later today on my AO3 page or follow me on Tumblr ([here](https://silverphoenixwrites.tumblr.com/)) for updates. Once again, Happy Holidays everyone!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: Please click [here](https://silverphoenixwrites.tumblr.com/post/170994077449/rewrite-announcement) for an extremely important announcement regarding this series.

“Resolved, that these united colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent states.” – Thomas Jefferson, July 4, 1776 [1]

_Philadelphia, Pennsylvania – July 4, 1776_

England counted fifty-six delegates in the small, stuffy room. Fifty-six delegates and a personification. Amelia was also in attendance, sitting quietly next to Samuel Adams in a corner and watching the delegates with careful eyes.

Slowly, meticulously, each delegate rose with the calling of their name. And Amelia’s eyes followed them closely as they approached the desk, covered by a wide sheet of paper. The top of the paper, in big block lettering, read: “In Congress, July 4, 1776, The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America.[2]”

And God, did those words trigger harsh memories.

England remembered reading that document with a sense of anger. At Amelia, at the world, at himself for allowing this to happen. He remembered burning that document in his fireplace and tearing through his room. Drinking whatever alcohol he could grab and then smashing the bottle against the wall afterwards.

Anger and fury and sorrow.

Amelia hadn’t stood a chance, she had everything against her. A small colony of peasants and farmers against the greatest empire in the world? No, there was no chance in hell.

Yet, here these men stood. Signing this document, their death warrant, in the hopes of freedom. They were mad, they had to be, but they were brilliant and brave. America seemed to be good at that. Looking the world in the eye against all adversity and doing the impossible, plowing ahead and innovating, creating. Yes, Amelia had her moments of stupidity and destruction, but no one could argue that she couldn’t inspire people. England had seen it first hand in the Second World War.

Above them, a bell rang loud and clear, deep in the halls of the building and in the tower in which it perched [3]. Outside, England could hear the booming voice of a speaker [4]:

“In Congress, July 4, 1776, The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America.

“When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.”

From her seat, Amelia smiled broadly and truly, her eyes sparkling and free as she listened to the words.

“And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.”

Cheers rose from outside as the bell continued to ring loudly.

“The United States of America,” Amelia said reverently, shooting a smile to Samuel Adams, “definitely has a nice ring to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1]: One of the final lines on the Declaration of Independence, presented to the Second Continental Congress on July 4, 1776.  
> [2]: The heading of the Declaration of Independence.  
> [3]: The Liberty Bell, which was initially commissioned in 1751 by Whitechapel Foundry in London for Isaac Norton. The Bell cracked on its first test run and was melted down by Pass and Stow and recasted. When the Bell rang, citizens gathered at the Pennsylvania State House to hear important news. The Bell is actually no longer in Independence Hall, but is now in Liberty Bell Center across the street.  
> [4]: The people of Philadelphia were the first citizens to hear the Declaration of Independence read aloud. Historically, the Declaration was read on July 8, four days after the Declaration was signed. The Declaration was read at noon by Colonel John Nixon.
> 
> Hey guys! How are you? So, I’ve been thinking about this series and about how I’ve written it. I was thinking about rewriting the series to included more of Amelia’s input. I feel like I’ve missed out on a lot of the emotions that Amelia might have had during what I’ve written so far. If any of you guys have an opinion or suggestions on what to do, or if your completely happy with the way it is now, please comment or send me a message. I’d be happy to hear anything you guys might have to say!  
> You can contact me here or on Tumblr ([here](https://silverphoenixwrites.tumblr.com/)). I hope to see you all soon!


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